


new romantics

by agentcxrter



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, in which peggy is cap, steve is a skinny shield agent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:32:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3053585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentcxrter/pseuds/agentcxrter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If she knew waking up seventy years into the future would have this many rewards, well, maybe she wouldn't have made such a scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	new romantics

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of the Steggy gift exchange going on over on Tumblr!

Peggy's eyes flutter open to strange, unfamilar light.  
She slowly wakes up, and and sits up the best she can on the bed. Little by little, her amplified senses get used to the atmosphere. Peggy becomes acutely aware of the sound of the radio in the corner, and the sound of the announcer's voice coming from it. She hears him say that a new song is coming the listener's way, and a jazzy, mellow tune fills the room. 

She pauses. She (knows) this song. She'd heard it in one of the many (and rare) occasions she and the Commandos had a break. The dimness of the pub was unforgettable, along with the stale stench of beer on her comrades' breath. She remembered Howard stopping by their table, his signature cheeky grin on his face. What he'd said, as well:

"[C'mon, now, Carter, - surely you're not going to let that pretty dress go to waste, are you?" He'd said, leaning up against their table, grinning. She'd rolled her eyes at him, because the harder Howard tried to woo her, she would always turn him down. It wasn't anything against him, he was just a friend. He would always be a friend. But, what could she say? It was rather fun messing with his head. (She remembered that dress, too - while it was gorgeous, it seemed silly to have it, what with a war going on - she'd donated it the next time they had a break.)  
Memories rolled around in her brain, and another quote spoken by Howard, comes to her mind.

"Carter - Peggy, just give me your coordinates! I can find you a safe landing site! Just - don't do this, please, Peggy, please - "  
She gasps, and the feeling is similar to being suddenly drenched in ice cold water. 

And then, the door opens. 

A woman in military dress steps in, and gives her a smile. Peggy takes her silence as an oppurtunity to speak.

"Where am I?"

The woman gives her another sweet, sickly smile, which makes Peggy distrust her immensely. 

"You're in a SSR base. You're safe, Captain Carter." 

Safe had never been a word Peggy had used in her vocabulary, especially not pertaining to herself. She was at war, after all. No one was safe - but that was her job, protecting people. So, 'safe' was not a word she used.

Especially not to describe herself.

It is because of this that Peggy is not soothed by her words, but rather even more unsettled, even more suspcious. 

 

So, she decides to take action. 

"What is the date, may I ask?" Peggy asks, as politely as she can. 

The woman smiles again, and Peggy, for a moment, wonders if there's something the matter with her face. 

She replies. "July. July 25th, 1944."

As soon as the date leaves her lips, Peggy knows something is terribly wrong. 

Peggy shakes her head.

"No. No it isn't."

The woman looks taken aback, for a moment. She replies with, "How do you mean?"

Peggy gives her a cold stare. 

"You said it was 1944. The radio was playing "Easter Parade". The announcer said it was a new song. It was new in 1942." She pauses, staring the woman directly in the eye. "So, I'll ask you again. Where. Am. I?"

The woman backed away, and if Peggy wasn't so determined to get a straight answer, she would pride herself on her tone. 

She stared at the woman, at her now, as she realized, fake military dress. The skirt was too short, her hair too long. She stared at her, then looked around at the room. The furnishings were fake and vintage looking, and then she realized. 

The world hadn't changed. No matter how much she fought to protect people, and to defend what was right,it would be no use. 

 

The world would never change, no matter what she did to try and save it. 

 

Peggy spotted the door, and ignoring the yells of "Captain Carter!", she ran. She busted through the walls, and dashed through the corridor, and soon, she busted out of the facility. She ran, and ran, and thanks to the serum, she barely felt any of it. She heard sirens and radios going off, people yelling for someone to stop her. She ran, and ran, and then suddenly, she was surrounded by bright lights, and she suddenly couldn't breathe. She whirled around, and all she saw were bright, flashing signs, and sirens, and honking car horns, and she couldn't breathe. She gasped for air and nothing was entering her lungs. Black cars - at least, they looked like cars, but they were the strangest cars she'd ever seen. And in the middle of the chaos stood a huge, tall, man, wearing an all black ensemble, complete with a black, cloak type of garment. His defining feature, however, was an eye patch stretched over his heavily scarred eye. 

Staring upon this man, Peggy came to a conclusion. 

 

Wherever she was, it was completely - and utterly unfamiliar. 

 

They put her in one of the black cars, the man - Colonel Nicholas Fury, as he introduced himself, and her head was still reeling with the news Fury had delivered to her.

 

She had been asleep.

 

For seventy years. 

 

She barely thought it was impossible, but with the serum, she supposed anything was possible. 

 

She still couldn't breathe. 

 

They take her to a facility. Apparently the SSR had been remade into an organization called SHIELD, which Peggy supposed was some sort of bastard child of the SSR.  
They put her in a room, and tell her to wait. Like she needs another unfamiliar room to sit in, about to be interrogated by another strange person.  
She broods in the silence for a while, until the door opens, and an agent steps in. 

She's completely taken aback by him, and she's not sure why. Maybe it's the drastic height difference from him to all of the other agents she's seen, he's pushing, at the most, five feet. He's skinny and pale, and possessed the jawline of a god. Maybe it was the way the strange light coming from overhead reflected on his face, but Peggy knew there was no argument that could contradict that the man standing in front of her was the most gorgeous thing she had ever seen. 

 

He's caught her staring, and the thing is, he's staring at her, as well. Peggy realizes she must look a fright, what with causing the scene that she had. She imagines her hair is wild (because, if she was frozen for seventy years, she highly doubted someone came in with a comb) and her makeup smudged to all hell.

That being said, she can't really come up with a reason as to why this agent is staring at her with his mouth hanging wide open. 

"I suppose you have a name?" she breaks the silence, her accent filling the room.

The agent jerks out of his stupor, and snaps to attention. 

"Oh, uh, yes, ma'am. Steve Rogers, ma'am." 

"Well, Agent Rogers, " Peggy says, leaning on her arms on the table, "I don't suppose you can tell me when and how I can get out of here? Because I have a feeling this lighting is dreadful on my complexion and if you're going to keep staring at me like that, I need to go somewhere where I can improve my chances."

Steve doesn't have a reply to this, just blinks at her rapidly.

"Well, I don't mean - well, I do, but -"

Peggy cuts him off before he can stammer on more. She raises an eyebrow and says, "You clearly do not know how to a woman, do you?"

He blushes, and that should not be adorable, stop that this instant. "I guess not, ma'am."

"Well," she says, looking about the interrogation room. "Tell you what. If we ever make it out of this bloody room, I have a proposition for you."

Steve looks up, interested. "What's that, ma'am?" 

She smiles. "I promised a friend.....before all of this, that I'd give a man a dance.. Seeing as I'm here, I never got to make good on that promise, and I'm not one to do that. So, say, next Saturday, you pick the place, you can help me make good on that promise, and, in return, I can teach you how exactly how to talk to a woman."

He's blushing again, God forbid, as he says, "I've never learned how, ma'am."

"Well, I'll suppose I'll have to teach you. We can get the band to play something slow - if they still have those. It'll be easier to learn that way." 

 

He nods, and she smiles, in spite of herself. If she knew waking up seventy years into the future would have this many rewards, well, maybe she wouldn't have made such a scene.

 

 

The coming Saturday, she's sitting in a jazz club that Steve had 'texted' her (apparently it was some way of messaging) and at precisely 8:01 PM, Steve Rogers rushes in, blond hair windblown, chest heaving, and his cheeks red. 

He approaches the table she's sitting at, and sits down across from her. She frowns at him.

"I told you eight o'clock on the dot." 

Steve whips around to check the clock on the wall. "Is it no-" He stops mid-sentence when he realizes his error, and Peggy can't help but laugh, and it feels good. She looks across the table at Steve, and he smiles shyly at her. 

This feels good.

 

She leads him out onto the dance floor, and she can feel Howard laughing in her mind. And when Steve trods on her feet for the eightieth time in the past fifteen minutes, she just looks up at him, and rolls her eyes. He blushes furiously, and then promptly trods on her feet once more. 

 

In that moment, Captain Peggy Carter, realizes she knows three things:

1\. The world that she was in was so different than the one she knew, the one she'd fought to protect. 

2\. But at the same time, the world was the same, looking around at the dancing people, the laughter, and the sound of the saxophone coming from the center of the room. 

And, finally,

3\. As she felt Steve trod on her feet (and apologize) for the umpteenth time, she knew that, in this vast, strange, future world, out of all of the people she could have become smitten with in this new century, she is dancing with a five foot four, skinny, asthmatic (by the sound of his breathing), pale man, and Peggy knows she would not have it any other way. 

 

In fact, she might just like Agent Steve Rogers. 

 

God help her.


End file.
